


Time, as a Symptom

by bleuetfane



Category: Star Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuetfane/pseuds/bleuetfane
Summary: General Armitage Hux attends a gala and unexpectedly ends up on a life changing journey.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	Time, as a Symptom

**Author's Note:**

> This little piece is a first story I wrote in a long time, so please excuse if it sounds a little stale.  
> This work features quotes and inspirations from the works of Joanna Newsom, Mary Oliver and Jeanette Winterson.
> 
> Thank you for reading & I hope you enjoy ❤️

The planet of Selcouth, a place rather ordinary, although seemed to have been frozen in time. The Vespertine palace, once home to the Elouise royal family, now serves as an opera and a history museum. The air, Hux noticed, smelled sweetly of pink roses and lilac from the vast gardens. The ringed moon cast a strange shadow on the old walls. 

Hux wasn’t one for big parties or ceremonies. He thought them unnecessary, wasting precious resources that could be used for things that actually matter - like the war effort. But Imperial habits die hard, politicians like to show off their wealth and status, and the rank of a general requires Armitage to attend these affairs. 

The interior of the grand hall was nothing short of breathtaking, if one cared for gold frames and marble statues. Hux didn’t. They were ostentatious and flashy, just like the old Empire; and subsequently it drowned in its own decadence and ego. He promised himself he wouldn’t allow that to happen to the Order.

A faint sound of giggles send him back to the real world. Four girls, dressed to the nines, with waists smaller than he ever thought possible, but not that he really payed attention, of course. 

Whispering. All around him, one by one, people stealing glances and pointing fingers. He grew tense. Why was he suddenly the talk of the party? Was there something wrong with his uniform? He made sure to have it pressed twice, just to be safe. 

\- Care for a drink, sir?

Yes, that’s what he needed right now. The General wasn’t one to drink around people, he thought it foolish to cloud ones brain in an environment where anyone could be a paid assassin or a bounty hunter, but the sudden attention grew almost unbearable, and surely one drink couldn’t cause too much harm. To help settle in, he decided to take a walk around the palace. 

Portraits of queens & kings of days long gone. Scenes of battles painstakingly forgotten. Landscapes of great plains & golden fields plowed into nothingness. All of them brought to life by the finest painters from the Republics golden age, now just a memory reserved for the galaxy’s oldest.

The hallway seemed to never end, the music now just a vague sound at the back of his head. Lights ever so slightly dimmed with each step, and the air the tiniest bit colder. 

Footsteps. Someone’s following him.  
The ticking of the old clock stopped. An unsettling ringing in his ears replaced the sweet sound of violins and cellos. 

Eyes. Someone is watching him.  
The painting of an owl. Its piercing dark eyes seemed to see right through his very soul. Did they just move? Hux looks in the direction of where the bird’s eyes point. A figure in white, standing just a couple feet from him. He draws his knife. 

\- Tell me. Why is the pain of birth lighter borne than the pain of death?

\- Excuse me?

\- When cruel death betide, we forget. We believe it erases all the rest that precedes.

Hux knew he shouldn’t have come to this party. He should have stayed on the ship, in his office, working. Not wasting his time playing mind games about philosophical matters. Philosophy, as a whole, was a lazy man’s attempt at trying to understand the world; mathematics, psychics, chemistry - that’s where answers lay.

\- You think you deserve all the pain they caused you. You think you deserve to slowly bleed out, in agony, just like she did.

\- I’m positive you have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me.

\- You’re the man that pleads for forgiveness every night. 

\- You’re the woman who ought to watch her words. Who do you think you’re talking to?

\- Look around the room. Every person who ever hurt you is here.

The main ballroom again. Tables bending under the weight of food on silver platters; towers of glasses overflowing with golden liquid. The baritone laughter of men, the incessant clicking of women’s heels. 

\- Look around. See their faces.

The man, rather ungraciously stuffing his face with caviar - Admiral Brooks. Peavey, trying to charm a group of young ladies. Allegiant General Pryde, with his head held high above everyone else. Even Grand Admiral Sloane, in a far corner, giving some poor butler the scolding of his life.  
His father...

\- Why are you showing me this?

-You have been wronged, tore up since birth. You have done harm. Others have done worse.

Bloody fingers from picking up shattered glass. The sharp pang in his abdomen, more blood. 

\- Maybe I deserved it.

Dead bodies, his classmates, the screams of terror: walls falling like domino pieces.

\- Maybe I could have saved them.

Blinding light - he can barely see. Five less points in the sky. 

\- Maybe I should have chosen a different path. 

\- It was your call.

\- I must abide by the rules that bind me here! That choice was made for me.

He looks over at his father, trying to strike a conversation with a young woman. He feels disgust; at Brendol, and at himself, for having to carry his name.

\- You beg for forgiveness, but don’t even own your own violence.  
The only person that needs to forgive you is yourself. 

\- There is no forgiving the things I done.

The broadcasts of panicked citizens recalling the Hosnian cataclysm. The faces of children, crying out the names of their parents. The young troopers, bleeding out in the trenches.

\- You carry this pain because you’re afraid of what you’ll see when you stop. That maybe you can’t save the world. You can’t bear it.

\- I remember it all. The sound of dropping bombs, of his fist hitting the wall, the breaking of a bone. 

\- You burn yourself up to prove your worth. 

\- All my life I have worked from the wound. To heal it would mean an end to my identity. 

\- You are not your wound, and the void will be filled when you accept that her blood was never on your hands.

\- I was her doom.

\- She would have never blamed you for what happened. 

\- She never had a chance because of me.

\- You were never alone.

\- You weren’t there.

The numbness, he feels it again. The guilt is too much to bear now. He starts walking away from the woman, towards the courtyard. 

The air is heavy and hot. Breathing is a challenge he doesn’t have the strength to partake. Everything is spinning, slipping out of time. The sting in his heart. He remembers it all. The terror, and the screams; the loud footsteps, the banging on the door...he thought, hoped, that one day this pain will become tolerable. It never did. It just changed in shape and size.

\- Have I had a hand in your loneliness?

They both go quiet. The woman notices his gloved hand, shaking like that day on Arkanis. His chest, rising and falling like a raging sea. Eyes threatening to overflow with salty tears.

\- Look around. The room, full of galaxy’s many hangmen. Do they seem remorseful?

\- They look happy. 

\- That’s what sets you apart. You may fill the same space, but you’re not the force of evil. They’re not the ones concerned with doing the right thing. You are.

The woman extended her hand - skin so pale you could barely tell where her glove ended. She was smiling, but rather cautiously. He knew that look. Pity.

\- See how the infinite divides - you are not to blame for the rift, spanning distant shores. 

She places a ring in his hand. 

\- Love is not a symptom of Time. 

He closes his fist over it.

\- Time is just a symptom of Love.

The sound slowly returns. The chatter and laughter of people fills his ears again. The light, scattered by crystal chandeliers.

\- Stand brave: Time moves both ways.


End file.
